


A Careful Facade

by In_Dreams



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Co-workers, Drama & Romance, F/M, Gringotts Wizarding Bank, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29317854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_Dreams/pseuds/In_Dreams
Summary: When Pansy takes a job at Gringotts, she's dismayed to learn she'll be working with Percy Weasley. But beneath his careful walls, she may discover more to him than she first realised.
Relationships: Pansy Parkinson/Percy Weasley
Comments: 35
Kudos: 104
Collections: Rare Pairs RHM Read for LoveFest, The Floo Network





	A Careful Facade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [floorcoaster](https://archiveofourown.org/users/floorcoaster/gifts).



> Author's Note: The happiest of birthdays to my lovely friend Floorcoaster. I hope you have a wonderful day! My attempt at a little Parkweasel :)
> 
> This piece has been neither alpha'd nor beta'd and mistakes are my own.

* * *

The first time Pansy Parkinson looked at Percy Weasley― _really_ looked at Percy Weasley―had been across the white marble foyer of Gringotts. Intricately carved Corinthians reached up between them, partially obscuring her vision, and she squared her shoulders and glanced away. Her lips thinned with derision as she returned her focus to Mister Harding, the droll man who would be her superior and was currently serving as her orientation guide.

As many of the oldest Pureblood families in Britain didn't care to deal with goblins in more _sensitive_ matters―read: morally and legally ambiguous―the London branch of Gringotts occasionally hired personal consultants.

The Parkinson coffers weren't what they had once been before the war, and in Pansy's estimation it was a better path to pursue than a job at the _Ministry_ , or something similarly banal.

At the very least, Gringotts didn't require she wear standard issue robes.

As the guide carried on, Pansy felt her gaze drift across the foyer once more against her own volition―and better judgement. The whole lot of the Weasleys were blood traitors, and the last thing she needed was to associate with that sort.

He stood in conversation with another man, brandishing a thick stack of parchment, and she wrinkled the bridge of her nose.

While Pansy had learned the hard way she couldn't choose her family, it appeared she wouldn't be able to choose her co-workers either. But before she could glance away, his gaze drifted her direction, as though feeling her stare. The sharp line of his jaw clenched, his lips pursed, and he cocked a brow.

Pansy released a breath.

As far as Weasleys went, Percy wasn't _unattractive_.

His shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows beneath his vest bared the smooth muscle of his forearms, his tailored trousers clung to his arse just so, and the dark, square frames perched upon the bridge of his nose accented the sharp lines of his facial structure.

And he was the least obnoxious of the bunch, as far as she could remember from their joint years at Hogwarts. The one more attuned with wizarding society than the rest.

But _still_. It was bad form and Pansy was far from desperate.

His gaze lingered on her a moment longer―long enough that Pansy felt a horrifying flare of warmth creep up her neck towards her face and, lifting her chin, she looked away. In her periphery she watched as the other man walked away and Percy's attention returned to the report in his hands.

To her mortification, Mister Harding led her in the same direction as where he stood, and Pansy fixed a thin smile onto her face when Percy looked up.

"Miss Parkinson," Harding droned, "this is our Manager of Accounts, Percy Weasley. You'll work alongside one another in certain cases."

"Pleasure," he clipped, his face impassive as his eyes scanned her face. The tone of his voice suggested the meeting to be anything but. "We already know one another, of course."

Pansy thought it was a generous assessment, when they had never once spoken. If anything, he knew _of_ her. Everyone from their side of the war knew of her, and Pansy stared hard at him while she willed the embarrassment out of her cheeks. A moment of weakness, nearly five years previous―wherein she had attempted to volunteer Harry Potter to the Dark Lord―had become the foremost descriptor of her character.

She affixed a polite effort of a smile to her lips. "Of course," she purred. "We went to Hogwarts together for several years."

"Indeed." His eyes raked over her for a moment longer before he turned on the spot to face Mister Harding. "Are we still on target for our meeting in"―he glanced down at a luxurious-looking timepiece on his wrist―"twenty-four minutes?"

Mister Harding nodded. "We are."

"Very well." Percy ducked his chin in a nod as he backed up a step. "Miss Parkinson."

He walked away without waiting for a response, his gait brisk and sure, and Pansy didn't quite care to acknowledge why her eyes tracked his steps until he was gone.

* * *

Percy Weasley, as she came to learn, was insufferable.

The man was more fond of schedules and timetables and _organisation_ than anyone she had ever met. He was irritating in his punctuality, especially in the way he expected the same of others. More than once, she'd had to bite her tongue on a suggestion that he might do something inappropriate with his colour-coded appointment journal.

But Merlin, she couldn't help the way her eyes found him first in every room. The way her entire being heated up when his gaze landed on her, or the way her nerves sparked alight when they spoke.

"Miss Parkinson." Pansy cocked a slender brow as she looked up; Percy stood at her desk, flipping through a file in his hands for a moment before he lifted his stare and peered at her overtop his glasses. Occasionally, towards the end of the day, he would loosen his tie and undo the top button of his shirt; it was the only concession to anything slightly below pristine she had seen him make in over two months of working together. "Have you got the folder on the Shafiq investments handy?"

Pansy hummed for a moment as she shifted through some paperwork on her desk before locating the folder in question. Pasting a tight smile onto her face, she brandished the ivory-coloured file. "Here it is."

"Thanks." He reached for the folder, the tips of his fingers just brushing against hers, and Pansy froze. Her grip tensed, and for a moment, the contact remained, before she released the file and sank back. His fingers tightened on the paper and he stacked it atop the report in his other hand. She couldn't tell whether the touch had been on accident or not.

But Percy's blue eyes sought hers, and his lips twitched with something that might have almost been a smile.

Aside from the fact that Percy Weasley rarely smiled. Perhaps she had imagined it.

He had a practiced sort of warmth that he offered to clients, and a brisk, reassuring press of the lips reserved for colleagues. But neither of them reached his eyes, and more than once, Pansy had wondered what he looked like when he let himself go. Or if he ever truly did.

It wasn't something she cared to linger on, for the way her body flared with heat at the thought.

"Will you be at the bank's social night next week?" he asked halfway to the door, the words simultaneously flippant and casual, but possessed of just a hint of interest.

Pansy pursed her lips and offered a shrug. "I thought I might make an appearance. You?"

His mouth pulled down with distaste. "I don't generally care for such things. A few of the goblins have a tendency to get drunk and belligerent. But there's a certain expectation amongst the upper management that we attend, and sometimes the networking can be valuable."

"Noted," she murmured with an effort at keeping her face straight. Percy rarely discussed anything beyond work with her, but she found his general countenance amusing at times. "Then I'll attend but I won't bring in any expectations of enjoyment."

He snickered a little. "That's for the best, honestly."

A smile tugged, unbidden, at her lips and lingered for a moment as his eyes locked on hers. Finally she looked away, a tight breath falling from her lips. "Enjoy your file."

Percy's expression shifted into something cooler and more professional and he brandished his stack of paperwork as he straightened his shoulders. "Indeed. Thank you, Miss Parkinson."

The way _Miss Parkinson_ fell from his lips caused a coil of tension to riot in the pit of her stomach, and stayed the correction hanging on her lips. She offered a stiff nod. "Weasley."

Her eyes hung, caught on his form, as he retreated from her office. Once he was gone, Pansy sank into her seat with a scowl. Her job would be significantly easier and more enjoyable if a bloody Weasley wasn't about all day, distracting her focus.

But she couldn't stop thinking of the man and she had started to suspect she was in trouble.

* * *

The sight of Percy Weasley with a tall glass of ale in his hand was incongruent with everything Pansy had come to know about the man.

Even at the pub they had designated for their social night, he wore a starched oxford and perfectly pressed trousers, but he had forgone a tie for the night and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone. His hair, while ordinarily never a piece out of place, had a slight tousle, but she suspected it to be intentional.

Very little about Percy Weasley was unintentional, she had learned.

If nothing else, she respected a man who cared enough about their appearance to present themselves as impeccably crisp at all times.

She wondered what else he was so intentional about.

Pansy sipped from her martini glass as he settled into the seat across from her with a table of their co-workers and adjusted his glasses. Carefully, he positioned his glass in the exact centre of a thin cork coaster on the table before his gaze slid up to meet hers.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Pansy asked, the alcohol in her system loosening her tongue.

His brows flickered once. He sat ramrod straight in his seat for a moment before the tension sank from his shoulders and he pursed his lips. "Well enough, I suppose." He took a sip of his ale, and Pansy's eyes briefly flickered to the motion. "My tolerance for social functions is often _limited_."

Pansy released an inelegant snicker. "I know the feeling."

Not that she considered herself antisocial by any means―and Percy's interest in social situations appeared largely limited to professional interactions, in her estimation―but she had restricted patience for idiocy as a general rule.

As Percy sipped absently from his ale, she murmured, "I would have pegged you for a whisky drinker."

He eyed his own partial glass for a moment, lips twitching with a hint of humour. "So would I, to be honest. An old standby from the family, I suppose. They aren't much of an _aged spirits_ bunch."

Pansy had not once heard him mention anyone from his family in the months they had worked together, and her lips curled with a coy smile. "I'd imagine not."

She had only known Ron Weasley well enough to say with any certainty, but she could remember the rowdy and troublesome twins in between. Something clenched within her chest to remember that one of the twins had perished in the war and she eyed him for a moment. Even if she wanted to say something on the topic, she wouldn't have had the slightest clue how to bring up the subject when she and Percy were still simply colleagues most of the time.

The other two people still at their table drifted in the direction of the bar, leaving Pansy alone with Percy, and a frisson of nerves darted through her; for a moment she considered leaving as well in an effort to escape the way she felt alone with him.

But he leaned back in his seat, removed his glasses, and rubbed at his eyes. "Fucking tired," he announced, securing his glasses once more on the bridge of his nose.

Despite herself, Pansy felt a flicker of disappointment. A part of her wanted to learn more about him, to explore the facets and dimensions of what made him tick. Her initial interest in the man, while inconvenient, had shifted into something a little deeper almost without her notice.

And at some point, she had realised she could no longer deny the fact that her interest did, on some level, exist.

Of course, Percy had never shown any over reciprocity―which only deepened her curiosity over why she was unable to let the matter go. And she certainly had no intention of telling him if he wasn't interested in her―Pansy had far too much pride for such a thing.

She swirled the partial contents remaining in her glass, wondering if she ought to simply call it a night. She had made an appearance, and she didn't owe anyone anything more than that.

The silence between them began to grow strained, and Pansy felt her own fatigue seep in regarding the situation. There was no rational point to this strange, lingering fixation anyway. They worked together, and it would most assuredly be frowned upon, if not outright disallowed―although she hadn't heard anything specific on the matter.

Percy fixed his gaze upon his coaster, adjusting the glass once more into the perfect centre of the circle.

A hint of embarrassment crept into her cheeks at the thought that she was less interesting than the man's bloody coaster. She had just opened her mouth to excuse herself from the table when he glanced back up at her.

"You went to school with my youngest brother, right? Ron."

Pansy pursed her lips and nodded. "Yes. We were in the same year." She noted he didn't mention her involvement in the war, or his own.

"I see." He nodded once, clenching the line of his jaw hard. Although he took another swig of his drink before positioning the glass back on its coaster, he remained pensive and thoughtful.

"I wouldn't have guessed you were brothers if I didn't already know," Pansy offered into the quiet space between them, uncertain as to why exactly she was baring any part of herself. Especially when Percy had never opened up to her, either. "Or any of your family, really."

A hint of wry humour pulled at his lips. "I'm not surprised. I'm not particularly alike with the rest of my siblings."

A scoff fell from her lips unbidden. "That isn't a bad thing." Almost instantly, she clamped her lips shut. She didn't know well enough to speak on the matter, when she didn't know what sort of relationship he had with his family. Although she supposed his consistent avoidance of the topic spoke measures.

He only shrugged. "I suppose not. I'm used to being the black sheep by now."

"I know how that feels," Pansy said, the words falling from her lips a little softer, more vulnerable, than she had intended. Something about the man made her want to reveal her soul, when she so frequently kept her emotions concealed away.

She wondered what he had heard about her before they properly met. Whether he knew she had tried to hand Potter over to Voldemort.

Eyes tightening, he stared at her for a long moment, as though looking straight through her. It felt oddly intense, overly intimate, and Pansy suppressed the urge to look away. But that same wistful humour pulled at his lips and he said, "Our mistakes have a way of following us in life, don't they?"

Her mouth went dry.

It was as much an admission that he knew about her as anything else. She could only breathe a soft, "Yes."

"If it helps," he went on quietly, "I don't think my parents are ever going to fully forgive the fact that I sided with the Ministry for a long time during the war. It's part of the reason I didn't stay there after the fact and got on with Gringotts instead. I rarely return home for Sunday dinners because I'm rarely welcome."

It was a strange sort of kinship, and more than she had anticipated, but she couldn't control the way her heart beat a little faster in her chest. The alcohol swirled in her blood, pushing her to say something in return―something which she couldn't quite wrap her head around just yet.

"My parents like to think I destroyed their social standing for them," she decided on.

A low chuckle fell from Percy's mouth, and one of those rare, unexpected grins crossed his face. "To being the disappointment of the family." He lifted his glass, and despite herself, a titter fell from her lips as she clinked her glass against his.

Pansy took a sip of her drink, her eyes lingering on his azure blue ones, before she set her glass carefully back on the table.

The words fell from her lips before she could even stop them. "I don't think you're a disappointment."

Although she hadn't meant to say as much aloud, it was true. Percy was polite and eloquent, well put together, and he had a good job. He had a tendency to be socially awkward and perhaps a little obtuse, but the side of him she had seen during their brief conversation had deepened the swell of intrigue within her beyond what she had imagined.

As though taken aback, his brows flitted up on his forehead. "Thank you, Miss Parkinson."

"You know you can call me Pansy," she said with a derisive snicker. "At the very least, _please_ don't call me that at the pub."

"Pansy," he clipped, as though testing the word, and her insides rioted at the sound. "Very well, then."

They fell silent, the air growing tense between them, and Pansy searched for a topic _outside_ of work where they might have common ground. But the fact remained that they had very little in that realm, and their families had always existed in completely different orbits from one another.

Percy swirled the dregs of his ale before tossing the rest of his drink back in one and planted the empty glass back down.

Jolting, Pansy realised she had nursed her own drink to the bottom. "Shall we get another round?"

With a grimace, he glanced at his watch. "I'd better not; I've got to work tomorrow."

"You don't usually work Sundays," she mused, the words falling from her lips before she could consider the implications. She wondered whether that was something she ought not to have noticed.

By his slight hesitation, the thought hadn't missed him either, and she felt a sudden warmth flare in her cheeks. But he only nodded. "I have some accounts to catch up on, and some administrative work in advance of several high profile meetings on Monday."

"Right," she breathed, forcing a tight smile. "Absolutely. It's probably for the best I leave soon as well. Performed the social obligation and all that."

His mouth curved with a wry smile. "Of course." Pansy slipped into her cloak and collected her purse as though she had truly intended to leave all along, and his gaze flickered with a hint of surprise. His fingers curled around the arms of his seat. "Are you alright to get home?"

"Yes." Staring at him for a moment, Pansy bit her tongue on saying anything further; with his mild temperament and propensity towards the careful and the methodical, it was easy to forget he had been a Gryffindor. "The Apparition point isn't far. I'll be fine."

He shrugged into a stylish slate peacoat all the same. "I can walk you if you like."

Pansy softened a little on the suggestion. While she was perfectly capable of getting herself home, she didn't think the offer was meant to be derisive. Her eyes caught on his for a moment, and a breath hitched. "Sure, that would be nice." As they made towards the door, she added a hasty, "Thank you."

The cool night air bit at her legs below her skirt, and Pansy wrapped her arms around herself. Outside of the pub, she felt a little unsteady on her feet after the few drinks she'd had, and she hoped he didn't notice.

He simply slid his hands into his trouser pockets, and they walked the short distance from the pub to the Apparition point in a somewhat stifled silence. Conversation scarcely came easily between them, when Percy spent so much time in quiet introspection―and as far as she could tell, he had no patience for inane chatter.

But he turned to face her once they'd arrived, a moderate facsimile of a smile on his face. The blue of his eyes shone a shade paler under the cold light of the moon above.

"Thank you for walking me," Pansy said softly, chewing her bottom lip for a moment. "I appreciate the offer."

"No trouble at all." Percy lingered, halfway facing her, and toed the ground with his shoe. She stared, having never seen him prone to fidgeting before. "Well, enjoy the rest of your night. I'll see you Monday at work."

Pansy's lips parted, though she wasn't certain what she meant to say. At last she clamped them shut again with a sharp nod. "I certainly will. See you Monday."

His hand twitched at his side, but he slid it back into his pocket. "Thanks for tonight. I had a nice time."

A breath caught in her throat, her heart beating a little faster at the admission. "I enjoyed our conversation." The line of his jaw clenched so hard that she feared he might shatter his teeth. But he didn't say anything more; Pansy wished she knew what he was thinking. "Goodbye, then."

He ducked his chin, meeting her stare. "Good night, Pansy."

The words clamoured around in the back of her skull, heat flaring across her flesh as she nodded and Apparated home.

* * *

By Monday morning, Pansy didn't know what to make of her exchange with Percy over the weekend. She hadn't been able to tell how much he'd had to drink, or whether the conversation they'd shared might have been spurred or exacerbated by a moderate level of alcohol consumption.

The way he almost constantly lingered in the back of her mind had grown distracting.

She paced by his desk en route to her own with only a quick nod to acknowledge anything that might have occurred that weekend. As far as Pansy was concerned, she had no intentions of pursuing anything with the man―silly schoolgirl infatuation or not―and it would be in both of their best interests for her to forget all about it.

Towards the end of the day she had begun to feel a little ridiculous about the way she had allowed him to creep into her thoughts. Even if he truly wasn't like she had expected at first, it didn't mean anything.

None of their conversations―particularly the deeper truths they'd shared with one another on Saturday night―meant anything.

And with the realisation came a bitter churning within her stomach.

Pansy almost never opened up to anyone. The only people who knew any personal details about her life were her oldest, closest friends.

So to know she had shared with Percy Weasley of all people about her past, and her relationship with her family, left an anxious gnawing at the pit of her being. She ought to have left before that last drink.

Numerous times during the day they crossed one another's paths, and Percy had scarcely acknowledged her presence aside from a brisk nod or two. Once, she thought she had caught his gaze lingering on her, but when she turned, he was focused on a report.

Fine. If Percy didn't care, then neither did she.

Except she did―most unfortunately.

And she couldn't even bring herself to the same point of animosity when she had first seen him across the foyer, because for some reason, and at some point in time, she had allowed interest to develop and blossom within her.

But given his current ignorance of her, she felt very much on the wrong end of the situation. There was professionalism and then there was Percy Weasley, who apparently didn't so much as deign to acknowledge a personal conversation during the workday.

If she was honest, men frequently pined after _her_ when she had no interest, not the other way around. At the thought, she resolved to put this ill-fated crush on the man behind her because if he _was_ interested, she would have known by now.

Until a gentle knock came on the door of her office at the end of the day as Pansy was collecting her things to return home.

Clenching her jaw at the visitor who sought to stay her retreat from the bank after a long, tedious day, she ground out, "Come in."

The door slipped open and Percy's head poked through, brows high on his forehead. "Did I catch you on your way out?"

"Yes," she said, folding her arms, but released a sigh. "I said come in."

He entered the office fully, pressing the door shut behind him. Pansy felt a lump accumulate in her throat at the action, and some of her ire deflated in favour of curiosity. When his blue eyes lifted to meet hers, she felt the niggling hint that she was fighting a losing battle.

But he simply glanced away and asked, "Did you have a nice day?"

"It was fine," Pansy drawled, cocking a brow. "Is this why you're delaying my exit? To ask after my day?"

"No," he muttered with a wince. "Er, yes rather. I suppose."

No one could ever say Percy Weasley was the most socially adept person in the world. But as his eyes flitted towards the door again, Pansy sighed and dropped her arms. "How was your day? You seemed busy."

"It was," he acquiesced politely. "Busy. Stressful." He released a long breath and carded a hand through his hair, disheveling it a little. "Those big accounts I mentioned are no joke and Harding will have my head if this all doesn't go well."

Although Pansy still wasn't entirely certain why he had come to her office, when they scarcely spoke in private, she felt a sting of remorse for her less than charitable thoughts earlier. While she had been deriding his lack of interest, she had been ignoring the fact that he was trying to deal with a challenging situation.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

He considered the thought for a moment but shook his head. "Not that I can think of. I appreciate you allowing me a moment to vent." Adjusting his tie, he shrugged the strain from his shoulders and straightened once more. "I shouldn't keep you―"

"You can always come to me," she blurted, the words falling from her lips before she could even consider the ramifications.

His eyes landed on her.

"I mean..." she added lamely, "if you need to talk about things. I won't tell Harding or anything."

"Thanks." Percy eyed the door for a long moment, but the silence that ensued didn't feel tense or uncomfortable. Pansy allowed herself a moment to observe him; he wasn't nearly as put together as usual―or maybe she could only see it a little better now. The facade he presented to everyone else, compared to the person he truly was below the surface. With doubts and regrets and hopes the same as her.

Before she could think of anything to break the silence, however, he spoke again.

"Here's why I came by," he blurted, staring at her desk. "On Saturday night you told me you didn't think I was a disappointment, and what I _should_ have said was"―his gaze lifted to search out hers again―"that I don't think you're a disappointment, either."

His words slammed into her chest like they carried physical weight.

"Oh," Pansy breathed, her next inhale hanging tight in her chest. "Thank you, Percy."

"And I don't think you give yourself enough credit." He clenched his jaw hard, and a furrow knit the skin between her brows. "It's easy for people to judge others when they haven't been in their shoes―and I know people judge you for the past in the same way they judge me for mine. But..." He sucked in a deep breath. "I think you're lovely."

Pansy didn't know what to make of the way the world spun around her, vague and blurry in her periphery; the way the words danced through the back of her mind, just ever so slightly out of reach.

At last she said, "You do?"

"Yes." His face was cautious, wary, but his eyes vulnerable. "And I just wanted to let you know."

As he made to retreat to the door, Pansy felt her heart pulse an anxious rhythm and she whispered, "Was that all?"

"Yeah. No." He wrenched a hand through his hair again. "I thought I might see whether you'd like to join me for dinner some time. Friday or something."

When his eyes locked on hers again, Pansy became suddenly hyper-aware of her breathing. "I'd like that."

"Really." His brows lifted high again, and a grimace pulled at his lips. "Because you don't need to say that if you don't actually―"

"Percy."

He clamped his jaw shut.

Pansy stepped towards him, anxiousness and exhilaration flowing through her veins in equal measure, and peered up at him. "I said I'd like that."

When his throat bobbed with a swallow, she couldn't help the soft curve of a smile that pulled at her lips. His nerves were somehow more endearing than she might have expected. "Right," he muttered, "okay."

Feeling a surge of courage dart through her, Pansy pressed up on her toes, trailing her fingers along the line of his jaw, and brushed a kiss against his mouth.

For a moment, Percy only stared at her, and she wondered whether she had misjudged the nature of his invitation after all.

But a small, secretive grin warmed his face, and he pulled in her again, kissing her with intent and fervour, and her heart leapt into a sprint when his hands skated her sides as the kiss deepened. A breath fell from her lips, pulse pounding behind her ears, and she gazed at him for several resounding seconds.

"Okay," he said again, ducking his chin. "This sounds like an excellent plan."

Despite herself, a burst of laughter fell from her lips. "Okay," she echoed, "Friday night. You'd better put it in your schedule."

A slow grin spread across his face as he edged towards the door again. "I will. But not a chance I'll forget."

And despite everything else, she was looking forward to it. Maybe she had judged him, too. But she resolved to move ahead with an open mind―and just maybe, an open heart.


End file.
